


The Black Wolf

by Graceofthegods



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Barristan Selmy, Gen, Jon Snow knows nothing, Prince Jon, Silent Brothers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 21:54:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13016931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graceofthegods/pseuds/Graceofthegods
Summary: What if Ned Stark didn't make it to the Tower of Joy in time? What if newborn Jon was spirited away to a septry in the Westerlands by Barristan Selmy to protect him from King Robert and his men? What if Jon grew up still thinking he was nothing, thinking his name was Andron? What if years pass and Jon still doesn't know he is the heir to the Iron Throne?





	The Black Wolf

Andren awoke to the sound of screams. Half asleep, he sat up in his meager hay cot, trying to determine the cause of the commotion. Something was wrong. It was hours after curfew, and the sound of the scream did not match the voice of the Elder Brother or any of his Proctors. None of his brothers would risk the wrath of the Seven and expulsion from the Septry by violating their vow of silence, this voice was that of someone outside of the Septry. Andren got out of his cot, tied his wavy black hair back with a length of yarn he kept at his bedside, and scanned the dark dormitory, studying the faces of is brothers. He had hoped to reassure himself in their familiar stoic indifference, but his concern was mirrored in the eyes of the brothers; all across the dark dormitory, Andren saw fear. 

Just as Andren was pulling his threadbare brown robes over his head, Proctor Karrem burst through the ragged wooden door at the far side of the dormitory. Through the open door, sound flooded the cell with disconcerting volume. Along with the screams, the dormitory was now filled with the sharp sound of metal striking stone. Quickly locking the door behind him, Proctor Karrem began pushing through the ranks of curious silent brothers and made his way to Andren. 

“You, Brother Andren, gather your things” Proctor Karrem said in a hushed voice, within inches of Andren’s face. Proctor Karrem’s presence had always intimidated Andren, the man was a whole head taller than him and was at least forty years his senior; his grey hair revealing a lifetime of hardship imposed by the Septry. He had an air of authority about him. Although he was younger than virtually all of the other Proctors in the Septry, even the Elder Brother payed him deference. 

Andren stared at him in utter confusion. It was rare for a Proctor to enter the Brother’s dormitory. Andren had only seen it happen once in his sixteen years at the Septry. Even then it had only occurred as a consequence of a younger Brother’s accidental immolation of his cot. Recognizing the dumbfounded confusion Andren’s face must have surely revealed, Proctor Karrem turned around to the now visibly terrified crowd of silent brothers and addressed them in a tone evoking the authority of the Elder Brother’s daily sermon:

“Brothers! It is time to embrace the destiny the Father has assigned us!”  
Proctor Karrem pointed at the door through which he had stormed only a few moments before,  
“Sinners have come to this house of worship to defile its holiness through blasphemous violence! Pray to the gods for their mercy! Whether the gods spare you or honor you as martyrs, remember your vows! Do not let the sins of others jeopardize your place in paradise!” 

Some brothers stared at each other, frozen in horror. Some began to jam their cots up against the door, mounting what was surely a futile effort to barricade themselves against the onslaught of the Sinners. Others fell to their knees in prayer. At least one brother fainted in a pool of his own vomit. With absolute disregard for the rather dejected reactions of the brothers, Proctor Karrem spun around to face Andren once again.

“Now is our chance!” He said in the same hushed voice he had used before. “The poor sods will buy us enough time to slip out the back” 

Andren stared at the stern faced old man in utter disbelief. He made a quick mental search, trying to remember any mention of a similar situation in the hundreds of books he had read in the Septry Library. He could only remember accounts of Septry raids during times of war with the Ironborn, but the realm had been at peace since before Andren had been born, since Robert’s rebellion. Perhaps this was… 

Proctor Karrem interrupted his thought in a far more forceful tone than he had before: “Come on, this is no time for daydreaming! We have got to get out of here before The Mountain paints the room red with the blood of our pious friends.”   
Andren pondering of their present situation had cost him his chance to gather his belongings, Proctor Karrem shoved him down the length of the dormitory and around a corner. Once they were out of the sight of the distraught brothers, Proctor Karrem pulled off his raged robes and tossed them onto one of the vacant cots. To Andren’s surprise, Proctor Karrem’s robes had concealed a battered set of padded leather armor. His outfit included not a single piece of permitted apparel, Karrem had even gone so far as to remove the amulet that served as a marker of his rank.

"What are you gawking at boy?!” Proctor Karrem gestured to a small window about three feet above his head, “Get your arse through there!”  
Andren, still very much in shock, grabbed hold of the windowsill and pulled himself up. His life at the Septry had not left him weak; he had been required to take part in the manual labor that sustained his brotherhood since early childhood. He was able to vault through the window quite handily, flailing as he came out the other side and knocking the wind out of him as his back impacted with the grass of the Dormitory lawn. Within seconds, Proctor Karrem landed deftly beside him. Andren had not seen him move any faster than the pace of a brisk walk during his entire time at the Septry, yet the old man’s movements seemed fluid and effortless, as if they had been second nature to him. 

As Andren scanned his surroundings for any indication of who the mysterious attackers might be, the sound of a loud crash resonated through the window from which they had just exited. Gasps and muffled screams followed. An almost inhuman howl filled the night air as the blades began to sing their song of death. 

“Let’s go, get to the woods. Nothing we can do for them now.” Proctor Karrem whispered as the violence within the dormitory intensified.   
“Proctor? What’s happening?” Andren heard himself say. 

As visibly surprised by Andren’s violation of his vow as Andren was himself, Proctor Karrem replied in his now familiar hushed tone:  
“Well I’m glad you’ve found your tongue lad. But we’ve got no time for that. Once we get away from those sons of whores, you’ll get your answers.”  
The screaming behind them had ended; only pained moans escaped into the otherwise serene night air. Proctor Karrem began a low crawl across the dormitory lawn, his pace accelerating as the laughs now coming from the window of the Dormitory faded into the distance. Karrem was in surprisingly good shape, even at his age Andren struggled to keep up. Once they reached the bushes, no more than a hundred paces from the Dormitory window, Proctor Karrem threw himself to the ground, becoming almost invisible in the dense undergrowth. Andren did the same, his brown cloak blending seamlessly into the tangle of foliage. 

“We’ll wait here until morning.” He said, slightly louder than before. “They won’t be expecting survivors to stick around, I’d wager they’ll have patrols further in the woods.”   
As Andren was about to speak, he noticed a tinge of orange emanating from the main hall of the Septry. Soon, smoke filled the air.   
“Fire.” Karrem said bluntly. “They’re trying to cover their tracks.”  
Soon the entire complex was ablaze, illuminating almost all of the lawn before them. Andren and Proctor Karrem held their breath, hoping to hide their presence as several dozen armed men exited the Septry before them.   
“Wildlings?” Asked Andren in a slight quiver, completing the thought Karrem had interrupted earlier. “ How’d they get so far south?” 

“Not Wildlings. Those are Knights and Men-at-arms. See that big bastard up front?” Proctor Karrem gestured to a massive figure at the head of the column, towering over the next man by at least a foot and a half. “That there is Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides.”  
“But… he’s one of Lord Tywin’s men. Why would he attack a Septry patronized by his own liege lord?”   
“You.” Proctor Karrem responded bluntly. “He is here to kill you. I’ve managed to keep you hidden up until now, but somehow they found us.”  
“But why would Ser Gregor want to kill m…”   
“Because Lord Tywin wants you dead.” Proctor Karrem interrupted. At this point, Andren was speechless. Every person he had interacted with his entire life, excluding the old man lying next to him, was now dead. To make matters worse, one of the most powerful men in all of Westeros had a specific vendetta against him. “And Lord Tywin” Karrem continues, “wants you dead because you are a threat to the King.” Judging by the puddle of urine that was expanding below him at the present moment, Andren couldn’t imagine himself being a threat to a lame chicken, much less the King. “Normally, he wouldn’t give a rats arse about what the King wants or needs. But in this case the King’s royal heir is Lord Tywin’s grandson. King Robert needs to stay in power long enough to die and pass the Iron Throne to Joffrey.” 

“I still don’t understand why this has anything to do with me.” Andren nodded towards the flaming Septry. “Or this.”   
“Your name isn’t Andren. It’s what the old Elder Brother and I called you to keep you safe. Your Mother named you after your half-brother, and your most renowned ancestor. You are Aegon, of house Targaryen. You are the rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.”


End file.
